


The Difference

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Pre-Relationship, sister bernadette has a lot to think about, start of ust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: A three-shot look at Sister Bernadette's developing feelings for Dr. Turner and her place in Poplar, during the 2012 Christmas Special and in episode 2.02.





	1. Invisible

**Author's Note:**

> In the CtM 2012 CS Chummy speaks to Trixie about being noticed. In the background of the scene is a nun (probably Sister Evangelina). In this fic that nun is Sister Bernadette. Aside from that small change this fic is canon-compliant. Just a three-shot look at where Sister Bernadette is in those early episodes of series 2. Thanks so much to the lovely my-little-yellowbird for listening to me yammer about this (I started talking about it in early December!), reading the many versions of it, and for all of her comments that made the fic so much better. Enjoy!

Clinic was busy. The vaccination program brought a rush of parents and children and cold weather brought in more than just the usual gripes and complaints of early babyhood. Babies with coughs, runny noses, and fevers jockeyed for time against mothers with proteinuria, severe morning sickness, and the normal aches and pains of a growing pregnancy. Sister Bernadette paused for a moment as her patient left the cubicle. She resisted the urge to let out a frustrated breath and instead whispered a short prayer for patience. The day had been long and trying, and was only half finished.

An exclamation of pain from Fred and a burst of laughter from a group of children pulled her from her quiet moment, and she set about removing the tray of soiled instruments to ready the room for the next patient. She stepped from the curtain, tray in her hand, nearly into the path of Dr. Turner as he rushed past in a burst of cold moving air. “Sorry, Sister,” he said, voice trailing behind as he shucked off his overcoat and entered into a cubicle. She heard him begin to converse with a patient in low tones.

Staring at the path he had taken, she tried to push the pleasing scent of wool and cigarettes from her mind. She deposited the tray with the other soiled instruments before turning to the kitchen to check on a urine sample. Nurse Franklin was lounging against the hatch, reading a magazine, and she took note of Nurse Noakes chatting with a young woman at the pamphlet table near the windows. Fred was nearby the table, struggling with Christmas tree trimming and keeping a group of rowdy boys at bay. The patient list was beginning to thin out, seats emptying as mothers and children exited after being seen. Approaching the kitchen doorway, she took notice of her last patient, putting on her coat and winter wrappings, assisted by a woman who looked to be her mother. 

“Which one did you see then, love?” The older woman smiled as her daughter buttoned her coat over her protruding stomach.

“I don’t remember her name, Mum. One of the nuns. That one with the funny glasses.”

“More respect for your betters, young madam.” 

The women turned to leave, and Sister Bernadette watched them go, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Her glasses were old, yet still serviceable, even if they were beginning to show their age, and the lenses were somewhat scratched. Until recently she had never thought of what others saw when they looked at her glasses. Her patient’s rude remark reminded her of her own unhappiness with the unattractive frames, and how she had once removed them to view herself without them in her cell’s mirror. Sister Bernadette shook her head and willed her cheeks to cool. There was no reason to remember past follies in the middle of clinic. Moving the band of her wimple, she placed it more comfortably under her chin. There was work to be done and little time to tarry. The urine sample awaited her. She walked into the kitchen, pleased to find Nurses Noakes and Franklin now occupied by chatting at the hatch. Moving to the counter she reached for the sample she sought, but couldn’t help and overhear the conversation between the two young nurses. 

“Do you remember what it felt like? Feeling as though you’d never stop growing, like Alice in Wonderland when she ate the cake. Dreading being noticed, and fearing you aren’t visible at all?” 

“Can’t say I do.” 

Nurse Franklin’s flip answer didn’t inspire a reply from Nurse Noakes, and yet as they both left the hatch Sister Bernadette kept replaying Nurse Noakes’s words in her mind. She could only assume the nurse was making allusion to the young girl she had been speaking with at the windows, comparing her to herself. Only recently did Sister Bernadette know the dread and the fear that Nurse Noakes spoke of. How her stomach would clench and her breath would catch...the remembered scent of wool and cigarettes came to her then, and she pursed her lips, trying to push the thoughts from her mind. 

Moving to take a spirit lamp from the shelf, Sister Bernadette caught her image in the window. In the hazy half-light the image was distorted, and her wimple looked almost like a fall of hair at her shoulders. Her cheeks began to burn again as the remembered image of herself without her glasses and wimple came to her mind. There were moments when she still could not forgive herself that vanity. That very next morning she had asked Fred to remove the large mirror that had been in her cell and to replace it with a smaller one. The new mirror was barely wider than the pane of glass that she looked into now. Yet, the image of herself, hair unbound, was fresh in her mind, and she wondered if the fear that Nurse Noakes spoke of, the fear of being forever unnoticed, was what had driven her to remove her wimple and glasses that evening. 

“Sister?” The raspy voice behind her, along with the scent of a freshly lit cigarette, made her breath catch, and her heart start to pound. 

She faced him. “Greetings, Doctor.”

His eyes widened and he smiled. “Ah, Sister Bernadette. I thought it was you in here.” He smoked in silence for a few moments and watched as she lit the lamp. “I was reading of urine test strips that are being developed. One day soon you may never have need to boil urine again.”

“Quite?” Sister Bernadette squinted and added acetic acid to her vial. She chanced a glance at the doctor’s profile before looking back at the tube. His brows were drawn, as if he were remembering something he had earlier read. She liked when he would discuss medical breakthroughs and new ideas during lulls at clinic. He seemed animated and social in those moments--the weight of his exhaustion and burdens lifted momentarily . Part of her wondered if his little asides were the only adult conversations that he had during the day, conversations outside of those he held with patients or colleagues. 

“Yes. In the States, a husband and wife duo are working on something they call Albustix. You may remember my telling you about Clinistix, for finding glucose in urine? Same principle.” 

“I would think the results would be fairly simple to read,” she offered, using tongs to take hold of the vial. She looked over and noticed that he was watching her. He seemed almost relaxed as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, smoke trailing upward from his cigarette. He was enjoying their conversation. Her stomach jumped with the knowledge, and she forced herself to concentrate on the tube and lamp instead of his informal pose. 

“Quite. The results would be less open to interpretation. More accurate. Though there is always the chance of a false positive, one supposes. More testing will have to be done.”

“Of course. It does seem that a dipstick test would certainly be easier, and faster, than boiling urine over a spirit lamp.” Sister Bernadette gave him a small smile before looking back at her lamp.

“It may be quicker, but mark my words, many a young nurse would over-saturate the paper and then where would we be?” Sister Evangelina barged into the kitchen, slapping her bag onto the counter. “Boiling over the spirit lamp forces concentration and concentration will always deliver better results.”

Sister Bernadette opened her mouth to respond, but Dr. Turner beat her to it. “Sister, I would have thought that you would have been interested in test sticks. The ability to test urine quickly would free the nurses for other duties of care.”

As Dr. Turner turned away from her, Sister Bernadette bit back her disappointment and blocked the conversation from her mind. She held up and examined the vial of urine, finding the liquid to be clear, denoting a lack of protein. She cleaned up her station while the doctor and her elder sister continued to debate dipsticks and a nurse’s time-keeping abilities. Dr. Turner mumbled an apology and moved to the side as she used the sink to wash her hands. He stubbed out his cigarette as he listened to Sister Evangelina’s complaints about nurses and their lack of practical training. 

Unnoticed, she skirted past them and left the kitchen to call her next patient.


	2. Heed

 

Morning offices and breakfast finished, Sister Bernadette took a moment to glance out the window at the bright sunshine.  After a long winter it was encouraging to see the turn of the season.  Sister Bernadette closed her eyes and offered up a quick prayer, asking for peace and serenity in service.  Of late her thoughts had strayed from the work she had always been so proud of, and the spring sunshine seemed a chance to confirm her commitment anew.   The bright sunshine lit the backs of her eyelids and she smiled, finishing the short prayer.  She entered the prep room while the nurses finished their breakfast, looking in the book to make a plan for the day’s appointments.  

 

Sister Evangelina came in, placing her bag on the table.  “What’s ahead of us today, Sister?”

 

Before she could answer Nurses Franklin and Lee came into the room, ready for their assignments.  She began to dole them out, projecting her voice to Nurse Noakes, who stood in the hall with Fred.  “Nurse Noakes, just the person.  We need a dressing change on Mr. Campbell.”

 

The nurse stepped just into the room.  “I’m afraid I can’t visit Mr. Campbell or indeed any of my patients.” 

 

Sister Bernadette listened as Nurse Noakes began to explain that she and her husband were to become missionaries in Sierra Leone.  It was unexpected and strange to realize that Nurse Noakes intended to leave, without so much as a hint that she might be looking beyond Nonnatus for fulfillment.  The nurses were shocked, dismayed that their friend was seeking to depart.  Yet Nurse Noakes made good argument for her timing.

 

“I believe God wants me there,” Nurse Noakes said, in her voice a plea for her colleagues to listen and understand.   “And I have to do it now, before the pitter-patter of tiny feet, or if they take after me, the patter of large feet.”

 

_ God wants me there _ , Nurse Noakes said, and Sister Bernadette’s peaceful sunshine prayer now seemed inadequate, and unable to be answered.  She, too, had been struggling with her place in Poplar, at Nonnatus, and remembered when she was once sure of where God wanted her.  She saw on the nurse’s face a divine love that she remembered from her own countenance, a decade before when she had been confident in God’s love and her place at Nonnatus House.  And now Nurse Noakes had surety, a purpose, and choice in her future.  The pitter-patter of tiny feet encouraged the young nurse to grab all life had to offer her in this moment.  Sister Bernadette frowned to realize that she had no such deadline looming in front of her.  Sometimes it seemed that each day was much the same as any other and they unfolded in front of her, interminable, counted in forty week periods of other women’s lives.  

 

Watching as the nurses hugged and made promises that everything would be just the same when Nurse Noakes returned, Sister Bernadette pulled back from them, smiling faintly as the nurses took their bags and left behind a still gobsmacked Fred.  Closing her own case, Sister Bernadette exited to her bicycle, shivering without her coat. The early spring morning was cool, but the cold ride on the bike might serve to wake her, to remove her restless thoughts.  If the cool air didn’t remove them then the Bow Road Tenement would certainly do so, with its many patients and overcrowded conditions.  

 

At the bike shed she spent some time affixing her bag to the rack, listening to the ruckus of small children in the road.  She startled when Sister Evangelina threw her bag onto the back of her own bike.  

 

“What do you make of Nurse Noakes?”  Sister Evangelina said the nurse’s married name is if it were only allegedly her name.  “Swanning out like this after everything she’s put us through?  All that time spent getting her into order and now she’s off.  Just like that.”

 

“She’ll be back in six months time.”  Sister Bernadette pushed back her wimple as it blew into her eyesight.  “It won’t have been all for naught.”

 

Sister Evangelina raised her eyebrows.  “If you think she’s going to come back here and la tee dah everything will be back to order, you’ve another think coming, Sister. Mark my words, the pitter patter of those large feet will be here before we know it.  Heavens only knows how long we have Nurse Franklin before she struts off with some pearly-toothed looker, or Nurse Lee, with that boy that hangs around here.  These girls care nothing for a continuum of care.  We’re nothing more than a stop in the road for them.”

 

“Even if they make nursing their lives work we might still be only a stop in the road for them,” Sister Bernadette said, mounting her bike.  “They’re young women. They have their entire lives ahead of them, with all the joys and heartaches that come with it.  We can’t keep them from that, Sister.”  

 

Pursing her lips, Sister Evangelina sat on her bike.  She sighed.  “I’ll see to Mr. Collins today if you’ll do so tomorrow.”     

 

Sister Bernadette nodded.  She moved to push off on her bike, but Sister Evangelina was faster. 

 

“At least we can count on one another, and our sisters, to remain consistent.” Her elder sister peddled away, leaving Sister Bernadette to wince against the wind and the weight of her parting words.

 

Cycling away from Nonnatus, Sister Bernadette tried to scrub her mind of the disorderly thoughts and conflicted feelings of the morning.  It was spring and life bustled once more in Poplar, with men shouting from the docks, snatches of music in the air, and small children sent outside by harried mothers.  Block after block that she cycled past gave Sister Bernadette a new tableau, a peek into lives that she lived among but just now felt so far removed from. Here was a mother she had delivered only a fortnight before, waving and calling a hello as she pushed her new pram; on the next block a young boy she remembered from Clinic, healthy and strong even with his arm in a cast; there, stepping carefully onto the sidewalk from a shop, a heavily pregnant patient bound to deliver in the maternity hospital, waving as Sister Bernadette passed.

 

Each clothesline she peddled under drew her mind to the women who left those clothes to hang.  She could hear them now, fussing after children, hands to their backs, their work never finished as they bustled to and fro, scratching out a life for their families.  Given a chance, she wondered if they may jump to switch places with her, to experience the silence and peace lacked in their chaotic lives. Sister Bernadette was finding just the opposite.  Silence was beginning to unnerve her.  She did not mind noise and commotion, music or the cries of babies, and the shouts of children.  It was the noise of life and she had come to crave it, listening in as the nurses played their records and smiling at the sound of children playing in the street outside of her cell window.     

 

Sister Bernadette slowed to a stop at a cross-street, letting traffic pass. A group of women crossed in front of her, pushing prams and encouraging younger children to walk quickly before the light went.  She listened idly to their prattle, thinking that bonds of sisterhood flourished in the East End, whether in the silence of the convent or a crowded tenement house.  The women moved up onto the sidewalk and she watched them go, almost wishing she could walk, and talk, with them.  The feeling was not unfamiliar.  She recognized its pang from the evenings she watched the nurses leave the convent, their lively chatter drawing her to them as she sought to experience the delight they seemed to find so easily in their exploits.  The delight would fade as the younger women would make their way out of the door, leaving her behind in the silence.  The quiet would press in and she would become restless, yearning for something different. Something more than the unsettling feeling of being on the outside, looking in.  

 

She pushed the thought away and reflexively asked a quick prayer for fortitude, but the prayer ended before it began, as she moved back in queue with traffic.  Her fractured prayer would not leave her mind as she cycled her legs faster, her destination near.   Yet she knew that she could not face her patients in such a state and so she veered off of the road, pulling to a stop under the overhang of a building.  A steadying breath calmed her, and she tried to regain the moment of serenity she had felt while standing in sun-soaked prayer.   A moment passed, and Sister Bernadette chided herself.  “There’s work to be done,” she whispered, remembering Sister Evangelina’s words to Nurse Noakes, that God had plenty of work for her in Poplar.  It seemed that He also had plenty of work for Sister Bernadette.   She remounted her seat, set to push-off on the bike.  

 

A familiar green car caught her attention and she placed her foot back onto the sidewalk, watching as the vehicle was hurriedly parked on the next block.  She continued to watch as Dr. Turner exited the vehicle, opening the boot to retrieve his medical bag.  He paused for just a moment before stepping onto the sidewalk, weariness already evident, even so early in the morning.   Sister Bernadette took a deep breath, wishing that she could offer him assistance, share his burden.  He entered the building, but still Sister Bernadette kept her eyes trained on his vehicle, mind wandering to a button sewn.  He hadn’t seemed to notice the button on his clinical coat, but Sister Bernadette couldn’t keep her eyes off of it during clinic.  He looked all the more professional for it being back in place, and Sister Bernadette found that her eyes strayed toward him time and again, even as she knew that she should not look.

 

The button, and the care behind it, would remain unnoticed.  As it should.

 

Nodding resolutely, Sister Bernadette pushed off into the sunshine, ready to greet the day, and her patients. 


	3. Notice

“Greetings, Dr. Turner.” Sister Bernadette stood in the hall, watching as the doctor removed his coat, placing it on the rack. “Are you here for Nurse Miller’s notes?”

“Indeed.” He grimaced slightly. “Never easy to tell a mother that a post-mortem must be performed. Those poor parents.”

“I’m sure the answers brought forth will bring a measure of peace, but I do agree, Doctor. We’ve been praying for the Kellys, and for Nurse Miller.”

“It will take time, but eventually they will begin to heal. The first step is this inquiry. You’re correct, Sister. Forgive me. It’s been a long day.”

Sister Bernadette smiled at him, even as she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He wore his strain for all to see, and her heart clenched at the thought. She remembered that he had already looked tired when she spotted him near the Bow Road Tenament earlier in the day. “It looks like it’ll be an even longer night, for you and for us.”  


“Down one midwife, as you must be,” he agreed, following her as she turned from the hall to walk toward the phone vestibule. 

“Yes. Nurse Miller is resting. We’re covering her calls.” She stepped into the room and paused next to the phone, turning to look back at him. “How is Timothy this evening?”

“He’s well, thank you. I dropped him off to have dinner with Jack’s family. I seem always to impose on the Smiths for my late evenings. Though I’m sure Timothy prefers Mrs. Smith’s tea to mine.”

Amused, Sister Bernadette smiled again. “I’m sure the boys are having a fine time together. And I’m certain the Smiths enjoy Timothy’s company.” She gestured to the seat in front of the phone. “Why don’t you stay here while I pop and fetch Nurse Miller’s notes? Perhaps a cup of tea?”

“Tea would be most welcome.” He settled into the seat. “Shall I spread out here or do I risk being in the way of calls?”

“You’re more than fine where you are, Doctor. Sister Evangelina is next on call. I’m confident that she’ll remove you should the need arise.”

He smiled, a half-smile that lifted one lined cheek. “I’m done for, then.” 

“Quite.” Sister Bernadette looked down as he pulled a file out of his case and flipped it open.

She turned, trying to hide the flush that had colored her cheeks at his rueful smile. “I’ll just see to the notes and tea,” she murmured, stepping back into the hall. She retrieved the folder of notes from Sister Julienne’s office before heading into the kitchen. Mrs. B’s platters of food were set to the ready and the nurses moved into the dining room with plates and bowls. Dinner was usually a joyful affair but the mood was quiet, a pall over the room after the events of the day.

They all took so much on with their work, Sister Bernadette thought, pouring tea into a cup. Cynthia had seemed so fragile and shaken upon her return. And now Dr. Turner was hunched over the vestibule table, seeking to answer the Kelly family’s questions, even as his own son supped with another family. Replacing the teapot Bernadette looked to the dining room, to Sister Julienne. 

The elder sister looked up and caught her eye. “Sister Bernadette. Are those the notes that Dr. Turner has asked for?”

“Yes, Sister. With your permission, I would ask him to dine with us. His work this evening seems to have only just begun.”

“Please do,” Sister Julienne said, smiling and gesturing to the table. “We’ve more than enough to share.”

“Thank you, Sister.” Sister Bernadette nodded her head and turned back to the hall. Dr. Turner was as she left him, poring over Mrs. Kelly’s patient file. She placed the notes and tea on the table. “These are all of Nurse Miller’s notes.” Stepping back, she continued, before he could speak. “And, please, you’re most welcome to join us for dinner.” Her stomach clenched as she clasped her hands in front of her, regarding him.

He turned briefly toward her. “Thank you, but I want to try and get a bit ahead of the inquiry.” Shuffling papers, he looked back at the desk, as if already formulating answers to questions that would be raised by the coroner. 

Nodding slightly in understanding, Sister Bernadette felt lighter, almost relieved that he didn’t accept the invitation, even as she wished that he would take the time to rest and rejuvenate. “Is there anything else I can get you, Dr. Turner?”  


Turning toward her again, he blinked his eyes as if in thought. “Some of your faith, perhaps,” he said, looking back to the files and wearily shaking his head. “It’s at times like this I wish I had one.”

“It’s at times like this I wish it made a difference,” she rejoined, wishing to impart that faith alone could not heal, that it could not bring the answers that he, the Kellys, or Nurse Miller sought.

Doctor Turner turned to look at her then, his face open, curious. His dark eyes flashed as if in contemplation, his gaze lasting a beat longer than what might be considered appropriate. Sister Bernadette flushed, dropping her face to break their unexpected eye-contact. “Sorry,” she whispered, nodding slightly toward the notes. “I should leave you to your work.” She stepped back, eager to leave the room and the sudden spark that she saw in his eyes.

“No, please,” Dr. Turner said, turning quickly in his chair, the fatigue that had surrounded him seeming to fade in response to her words. “Stay. Take tea with me.” 

His invitation was sincere. Interest was plain to see on his face, and evident in his plea. Her heart raced at the awareness he exuded, awareness directed at her. “I’m expected in the dining room,” she managed, turning with a hasty step and walking away. She was breathless, her stomach aflutter as she traversed the hall, excitement and dread filling her in equal measure, making her step faster toward the familiarity of the dining room. 

“Ah, Sister Bernadette, just in time.” Sister Julienne gestured to the empty seats. “Is Dr. Turner coming through?”

Sister Bernadette hastened to her chair. “No, Sister,” she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray the pounding of her heart. “He wished to start preparing for the inquiry. He’s familiarizing himself with the facts of the case. Timothy is having his dinner elsewhere, but I’m sure Dr. Turner will want to get back to him soon.”

“Dedicated man.” Sister Julienne smiled slightly, and glanced toward the kitchen. “We’ll be sure to send him off with a bit of dinner.”

“Of course, Sister.” The prayer allowed her a moment to unobtrusively catch her breath. Upon opening her eyes she accepted a platter from Sister Evangelina and spooned a serving onto her plate. The talk at the table was staid, Nurse Noakes’s announcement and Nurse Miller’s absence precluding the usual light-hearted conversation. Sister Bernadette concentrated on eating, willing her body to settle and her insides to calm. The telephone was quiet, yet she kept her ear trained toward the vestibule, almost hoping to hear the scrape of the chair and Dr. Turner’s receding footsteps as he left the convent. He would never leave without returning the notes, but Sister Bernadette almost wished that he would go, giving her the time to acclimate to the idea that he had seen her, taken a second glance at her. Her cheeks warmed, and she took a sip of water to try and cool them.

After dinner she offered to set by a plate for Nurse Miller while she prepared a paper bag for Dr. Turner. Sister Julienne nodded her assent, and Sister Bernadette worked quickly, wrapping Nurse Miller’s plate to keep it fresh, while slipping two pies into the bag, reasoning that Dr. Turner would share with his son. Folding the bag, she creased it as she walked toward the coat rack. She meant to leave the bag with the doctor’s coat, but he was standing in the hall, and his eyes brightened when he saw her.

“Sister Bernadette.” He shuffled the folders he held in his hands until he removed and held out the booklet of notes. “I’m returning these.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She accepted the file, and offered him the paper bag. “These are for you, and for Timothy.” She looked briefly at the door, and then back down at the notes, seeking to avoid looking into his eyes. 

He took the bag and placed it on top of his medical case. “You’re very kind.” 

Sister Bernadette didn’t respond as she watched him take his coat from the rack, and shrug into it. As he moved she caught that faint, familiar scent of cigarettes and wool, and tamped down the urge to inhale deeply, to fill her lungs with his scent. 

He turned back and their eyes met before she could look away. She saw the same questioning intent in his gaze and dropped her eyes, as he spoke. “Sister--” 

“Were you able to find the information you needed for the inquiry?” She cringed to speak over him, but sought to keep their conversation away from the moment she knew that he wished to discuss.

“Yes,” he said after a beat, placing the paperbag into his coat pocket before lifting his medical bag. “I did. It’ll be in the coroner’s hands now.”

“I shall pray that the results will bring a measure of comfort to those involved, to spare them further trauma.”

“I only wish it would make more of a difference,” he mused, voice quiet and thoughtful as he shifted his bag from his left hand to his right. “Though perhaps the answers will offer a measure of comfort in their own way, as you said earlier.”

“Quite. Knowing what truly happened may ease the Kellys through the early stages of their grief and allow them to find peace in their faith.” 

“Indeed. The results may also ease Nurse Miller’s conscience. From her notes I saw nothing untoward, or out of place. Not that I expected there to be. Nonnatus House is above reproach.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Turner.” Sister Bernadette followed his lead and walked to the door behind him, holding it open as he exited to the step. 

“I would thank you again for the dinner,” he said, turning to face her in the doorway. He patted his coat pocket. “I’m sure Timothy will as well.” He tilted his head and met her eyes, looking at her as if seeing someone new.

Sister Bernadette bowed her head, exhaling quietly to regain equilibrium. As she glanced back to the doctor he opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, but pressed his lips together and cleared his throat instead. “Goodnight Sister Bernadette.”

She nodded. “Dr. Turner.” She kept the door open as he turned and stepped into the night, allowing the light to guide him down the steps. As he stepped out into the darkness past which she could see, she closed the door and pressed one hand to her quivering stomach. 

She had been noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Thank you all so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> All I know about boiling urine I learned from two scholarly articles. ;) If I'm incorrect, please let me know! Also the 'husband-and-wife' duo I mention are Helen and Alfred Free.


End file.
